


Afterglow

by TawnyOwl95



Series: Good Omens Bingo 2021 [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff and Smut, M/M, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), sooooft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:08:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29902950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TawnyOwl95/pseuds/TawnyOwl95
Summary: So many campfires, through all the years. This one is theirs (at last.)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens Bingo 2021 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2094969
Comments: 14
Kudos: 53
Collections: Good Omens Bingo 2021





	Afterglow

**Author's Note:**

> For the Good Omens Bingo 2021. Prompts 'campfire' and 'Through the ages'

The fire crackles, flames licking back into life around the log Crowley has just put in the grate. The light shines on the traces of scales lingering on the sides of his slender calves. Aziraphale's eyes worship them, and the way the firelight feeds his gold irises, makes his scorching red hair shine. The way it ripples over the glossy black of his wings. 

Crowley is made for fire. Of fire.

The scratches Aziraphale has left on Crowley's flanks and either side of his spine catch the light from the single lamp. They won't heal until Crowley let's them. He likes the way they burn. 

Aziraphale aches too. A bruise sucked into his shoulder, edged with fangs, that goes through all his forms to the very essence of him. Filled with his heart's blood. He runs a finger along its edge and sighs contentedly. 

Crowley looks back, a softening of the skin around his eyes, the cynical line of his mouth smoothing out. It shows he's looking at something he finds wonderful too. 

Aziraphale preens and let's the blanket fall down his shoulder just a little bit more. He's half wrapped in wool, half in feathers. This is still new. They can't quite control the side effects of their love making, but that's perfect. So many layers to both of them. Layers they are peeling away gradually. And Aziraphale is not adverse to the surprise appearance of a forked tongue at crucial moments, just like Crowley will not object to sudden outpourings of angelic grace. 

Quite the opposite, if the force of his last orgasm is to be believed. Aziraphale had held him through it, poured praise into his ear as Crowley unravelled, tender and raw and so very wonferfully his. 

Crowley shivers as he steps quickly back from the fire. 

Aziraphale lifts the corner of the blanket and Crowley slithers underneath, tucking himself against Aziraphale's side. He reaches for his wine glass, other hand sliding up Aziraphale's back, into his wings. 

They'd pushed most of the furniture back. Made space, just in case this happened. They are reclining on pillows in the middle of their living room watching their fire dance. 

"You're beautiful by firelight," Aziraphale murmurs against Crowley's neck. "I've always thought so."

"So many fires," Crowley recalls, eyes still holding and reflecting the writhing flames. 

"Across all the continents through all the centuries," Aziraphale strokes his hair. 

"Before and after battles. In forests and by roadsides."

So many. Each one a place created between and outside the events swirling around them. Sanctuary to rest and gossip and be. 

"That one when I found you lost in the Essex marshes." Aziraphale smiles as he pushes Crowley's hair back from his neck and kisses his ear. 

"Wasn't lost. I was setting a trap for an angel. Why do you think I was carrying two skins of wine and fresh baked bread?" 

"Always so very conscious of my needs."

"Always." Crowley holds his glass to Aziraphale's lips. Aziraphale places gentle fingers on Crowley's wrist, steadying them both as he drinks. 

Crowley puts the glass down, cups Aziraphale's face and kisses him deep (through all planes of reality) and long (through all the years apart) and slow (because now time is theirs. At last). They sink back into the cushions, kicking blankets away now that the fire is roaring. 

"To wineskins emptied," Crowley murmurs, hands on Aziraphale's waist. 

"Meals shared." Aziraphale miracles the last of the olives from the dish pushed to the corner to his fingers. 

Crowley licks at the oil running down Aziraphale's thumb. Eyes locked with Aziraphale's, he sucks the olive shamelessly from his fingers, forked tongue curling and thrusting. 

Aziraphale does not hide how much he enjoys  _ that.  _

They can do this now (at last.)

How many times when they felt like the only beings in the world? And yet in separate worlds at the same time. 

"How many times I didn't reach for you. Couldn't." Aziraphale shudders as Crowley pushes him further back into the cushions, covering his body with his. Aziraphale reaches now, grasps and holds tight. He adds to the scratches decorating Crowley's human skin. He reaches inside and marks his scales with gold too. His own fire to brand Crowley as his very own love. 

Crowley stretches, spine arching as he luxuriates in angelic heat. "Making up for it tonight, aren't we?" 

The wind howls outside and the rain lashes hard against the glass. 

Aziraphale pulls his new husband close and prepares himself to be loved again. 

  
  



End file.
